Results tagged "parenting"

And I mean that in the most eloquent, and non-boob way possible…

You’ve all seen it by now. In fact, it’s old news and I’m way behind the times — clearing the buffers out of my brain that are filled with apple sauce, toy tractors and soy milk. It takes me a few days to clear my head, wipe the oatmeal from my eyelashes and say… What does that say? But the ‘Mom Enough Time Magazine’ cover that was released ever so obnoxiously, Pre-Mother’s Day weekend. Yeah. THAT ONE. The one that forces all to look where most try not to out of a little thing called PERSONAL SPACE. Because– not only is she sending a message about how awesome your arms can look with daily Pilates, but hello? Camouflage on a 5-year old? GROUNDBREAKING. My son has been wearing the military pattern for years, much to the chagrin of his leftist Preschool (Not that there’s anything wrong with that political standpoint. Get over yourself.) It’s FASHION, people. Even TIME MAGAZINE agrees.

Really TIME? You had nothing better to do than to sift through the Goddess files to find the one 26 year old, self-righteous (in her own right, because I’m non-confrontational) woman that wanted to stand up, say F-YOU, I BREAST FEED to the universe? Never mind the rest of us that — in one massive uproar, sheltered our cubs under massive butterfly wings and said, “ARE YOU TALKING TO ME?!?!” Because women, MOMS in particular, are not defensive at all. Go team YOU.

Admittedly, I didn’t read the article, so while I feel the need to write this post — I can’t speak for the content beyond Time’s cover. Apparently, you have to buy the issue if you want to read in detail and by the time that I reached the newsstand, the angry mobs of Moms had already had their kill. All I could find was a trampled issue of Saveur Magazine — the Bread Issue, which — half-gnawed on must have served as substance to one of the blood seekers. I would go into detail over what they did to the Vogue Scarlett Johansson issue, but really — the images are too graphic for my descriptive ability. HOWEVER, I did read the online interview with Miss MOM ENOUGH (in capital red letters) on Time’s website — I don’t know, aside from the weirdness of shoving her boob into a her kindergarten-aged children’s mouths, she seems okay — a little loopy, but what Mom isn’t? And whatever, if that’s your thing — DO IT. Obviously, someone at Time Magazine is happy that you did — sitting in an accounting room, counting dollars upon dollars where the once dilapidated and tired magazine was, just yesterday, scrounging for pennies…MUHAHAHAA, WHO CAN WE PISS OFF NEXT?!?! While many would have been perfectly fine not knowing, and NOT getting angry over imagery and words that point and accuse. Blood pressures would have remained normal — and those of us with a sense of humor wouldn’t be wondering if we need to be careful about our boobs and what mouths they end up in. But whatever, who’s to stop those that feel compelled to share — in all seriousness, or not.

via the lovely blogger lateenough

Some days just can’t be duplicated…On our way to school today….

“Mom. Why do the clouds move?”

“Well…. the wind blows them around. Look at the clouds today — don’t they look like the comforter on your bed?”

“Yes, they… They look like a big mattress!”

“Yes, you’re right — all puffy…”

“And COMFY! I bet they’re bouncy. I bet the man that drives the sun is laying on them.”

“The man that drives the sun?”

“Yes — he’s friends with the man in the moon. He sleeps ALL THE TIME.”

“Really…”

“Yes, but the sun is too hot. Like the radiator in the little bathroom.”

“I know. That radiator is hot …. but the sun is a million times warmer…”

“MOM. I touched that radiator last night and it was really hot.”

“You shouldn’t touch it.”

(after a minute of thought while driving past McDonald’s)

“Mom. Did you need to go into Old McDonald’s today?”

“No…. Dad bought me a coffee this morning.”

“Oh. Well. MOM.”

Yes.

“If you need a coffee sometime and Dad doesn’t get you one, you can just go to the Old McDonald’s drive-thru.”

“That’s true, Will.”

“If Dunkin’ Dounuts had a drive-thru, then you would go there, right?”

“Probably.”

“Maybe tomorrow Dad won’t bring you coffee?”

“Maybe.”

And here we are. Suddenly, but yet not really. Will is in school and SHHHHH! Baby Jo is sleeping…. snoozing away, unaware that her mother is now quietly celebrating freedom. Right? No big deal, really. Just ALONE TIME. Alone. AAAAALLLOOOOOOONNNEEE. All alone. Quiet. Did I mention that I’m alone right now? ALL BY MYSELF?

This picture is a few months old… Will, as I mentioned, is already a senior at the Naval Academy while Jo is freshly stepping off her win with a spread in Italian Vogue, courtesy of America’s Next Top Model. Kate Moss is her new agent and due to Will’s left hand curve ball, the Red Sox are waiting out his military-navy-seal time patiently.

And I know — it’s rather OUT OF CHARACTER for me to post such a personal picture on this blog, but oddly — when they aren’t right here with me, hanging off of me — whining while asking me to play and crying about the fact that I looked away from them for an ounce of a mili-second, I kind of miss the little buggers. I mean, just now while typing that paragraph I had to go check on Jo 30 times. And Will, as I sit here with all kinds of phones taped to my body… should his school call to tell me something… anything… like he sneezed. Or told that joke that only makes sense to an almost four (!) year old… Or even began reenacting Mercutio fighting Tybalt just to prove that the DiCaprio version totally didn’t cut it… “A SCRATCH, JUST A SCRATCH!”, falling to his knees “A Plague on BOTH YOUR HOUSES”.

This morning before leaving the house Will turned to me and very strictly stated that if I touched the construction site that he was erecting on every cushion of the couch that he would be very angry. And he didn’t just leave it at that… No. He also had to do a walk-away-turn-back with a look of bold seriousness to say “Mom. I MEAN IT.”… Just to reinforce that tone that I use when I want him to listen to me. Even Bluedog was all “Dude, he means it.”

But now it’s ending. As I hear Jo rolling about. Alone time is over… as I type while the rest of my body attempts to tear away from the keyboard… Until we meet again, sweet freedom — parting is such sweet sorrow…

Hello there… won’t you please come in.

I’ve been hoping that you would stop by — there are so many things going on these days that its hard to keep track — What haven’t I told you lately?

Did I tell you about how inconvenient it is that I moved my computer to the basement? Yes. It was a bad idea. Now almost every time I need or want to compute, I have to slink off under the guise of doing laundry. It was also rather inconvenient that my accountant moved his office from the neighboring town of Hampton Bays to a place called Aquebogue…. Which makes me think that I have to borrow Mr. Sal’s thigh high fishing waders and head out into the bogs of Long Island while carrying peace offerings so as not to upset the natives. What’s that? Long Island doesn’t have any bogs? Really. ARE YOU SURE? Because I just googled it and therefore must BEG TO DIFFER.

Do you know what else Long Island has? PINE BARRENS…. Masses of pine trees huddled and mopped together to form clumps of forestry so thick that if you were to stick your hand in, it might just take DAYS to pull it back out. Right? Although I’ve never actually tried this, as I drive to places like AQUEBOGUE, I can envision this happening. Which is not only why I’m more afraid of Pine Barrens than I am of a bullet riddled Hood — But ALSO why I’ve chosen to write a blog post that seems to be about nothing. Because I spent a good part of the past few days reading through Mommy Blogs and I have to say that writing about nothing might be a better choice for time well spent.

It all started rather innocently, with my perusal of a few really good blogs that I enjoy on an almost daily basis. I would never consider these blogs to be “Mom Blogs” because they don’t focus solely on the lives of the writer’s children. Instead they blather on about idiosyncratic topics OF WHICH I feel compelled to compare my own life with and THEREFORE consider to be nothing short of GENIUS. At one point, as is what usually happens here in this conundrum of the internet, I clicked on a link… and then another… and another… and another until I was lost and wandering aimlessly through a sea of angry and heavily drinking Moms that seem to not only loathe their daily lives, but also have no qualms about sharing these rather sad and insecure feelings about their kids, husbands and general STATI-Q in life.

A lot of these blogs, of which I’m too nice to actually link to so that the Moms don’t hunt me down and force me into the Pine Barrens, focus on really personal things… like cute pictures of kids coinciding with posts about not having enough time to ones self anymore… or how so-in-such’s life could be so much different today had she not married while pregnant and, yadda 3 more kids later, she’s lucky to get one night out a week away from the dirty bastards. The bastards, of course, being her kids… not the chain gang of friends that she also has photographs of on her blog, in what I can only assume is her home, doing keg stands and smoking butts–Blindingly F’d up, while the kids, I mean BASTARDS, hang around at knee high vantage. And, while I am sitting here, beating myself up for inconveniencing myself by moving my computer to a place in my house that is seemingly impossible to get to… I would MUCH rather hang out with my kid, not complaining.

SO, what’s going on here? I mean, aside from the good Mom Bloggers — of which I liken to Gilda the Good Witch, there are also some rather talented writers out there that AREN’T MOMS and also know that this is ALL WRONG. Could it be that the lives of other semi-celebrity, self-proclaimed Mommy Bloggers have made it such that others feel the need to TELL ALL online? Do they think that there is the same status waiting for them at the end — along with SWAG and personal assistants? Fame & Fortune… And her little dog too! And when exactly DOES IT END? When the dirty bastards, aka CHILDREN, finally escape from the lives that their Moms have told us all about in some aspect of pride? REALLY? And is it worth it? Because, even though I’m writing this from the TALLEST PEDESTAL IN EXISTENCE,  if attempting to write seriously about hating motherhood is the new white, then I remain cloaked in BLACK (seeing how it’s spring-n-all).

Transition is looming…

Will starts school in a few, very short weeks. And while I am anticipating a serious meltdown that spirals into a Dear Lord, WHAT DOES IT ALL MEAN phase for a while, at least I know that I’ll have Will to be all – ‘Dude, MOM – Get Over it – 9:15 to 11:45 is LESS THAN 3 HOURS’. But still. My feet are frozen… creatively speaking, of course. And considering that we live approximately 2 minutes and 26.5 seconds from the school (yes I timed it. stop judging me), I had better get my bud-unka-dunk in gear. TOOT SWEET.

Because, if you could see me, then you’d know. My hair is sun bleached with heindog roots, my freckles are totally chill and whatevs — the office move that was supposed to be over by the end of the summer is still only half done AND – I still haven’t figured out what I am going to do next. Yeah, I can hear you – STOP SHOUTING… WHY do I have to DO anything? Why can’t I just STOP?  Well, whatever lazy bones… because I’ve tried. And if you haven’t seen what happens to someone that has worked semi-consistently since they were 12 then you can sit right over there with the Olsen Twins. Because they’ve been footin around since they were babes… and you don’t hear them complaining — DO YOU? Not to mention that I have this whacked out “creative” gene stun-gunning me every time I try to think inside the box. Which is not only why I married a Republican, but also the reason that anxiety likes to sneak up on me when the big idea exerts itself.

And this is a critical time. When Will was born I was still running a mildly successful company that allowed me to be a Mom, work from home and manage the day to day operations with employees. I did this for the better part of Will’s life.. until the giant ECONOMIC CRISIS (echo echo echo) took it from me. Since then I have been a full-time Mom with occasional projects here and there, with the help of a babysitter a few hours a week. With the exception of these few hours — Will has been with me from the second he wakes up until about 5 minutes after he falls asleep. And, yes.. I could be considerate about the whole situation, but honestly — I’m a little weary of finally having time.

And, although I’m totally aware that you are on vacation these last weeks of summer… What should I do, Internet? I’m damn-sure as hell NOT giving you all of my newly found two and a half hours… What would you do?

A few weeks ago we had guests for the 4th of July weekend.

And, YES. I know how long ago that was…over a month and SEVERAL DAYS. But I know. While you were all WHAT IS SHE DOING, I was totally holding back and not telling you… Because, sometimes I get caught up in other things — like word fluency, colors, being awesome at everything while not putting any pressure on myself, and an old little Indian man who wears a leather dress with a 3 foot mohawk, carrying a suitcase with a giant British flag on it… who rides the New Haven Line at 8:40pm only to disembark in Cos Cob, Connecticut.  Okay, so maybe not in that order, but WHATEVER – do you know what’s in Cos Cob? BOATS. BOATS and DOCKS…. and cute little neighborhoods with Bed & Breakfasts and Civil War statuses… please note that it is ‘statuses’, not ‘stati’ — which is what I really wanted to use, but I could sense several frowns approaching. Also, I’m not that awesome… ask around, they know.

So yes, time is passing rather fast, as one would hope amid drought and buggy conditions… but the summer has not been without its little quirks and giggles. It feels like only yesterday that I was crossing the street in Southampton, when a Lexus convertible filled with teenagers came flying around the corner, creating a near death experience to which I reacted by holding up my hand… I mean I could have screamed and started doing jumping-jacks… but no. I thought a simple hand would suffice… which it did… but it also created a gaggle of “DUDE, Don’t be SO UPTIGHT”, among the passengers… The hand, you know, being so STRESSED OUT.

Then there was the lady at Schmidt’s Market that filled her cart to the brim with fresh local corn, only to wheel it to the register, ask the cashier how fresh it was and then decide that picked-yesterday was way too long ago… leaving the cart in the middle of everything, for everyone else to deal with… I offered to help put it back, but the cashier was too amused by the fact that the lady was on her way to the closest, more expensive farmstand… that Schmidt’s Market stocks…with freshly yesterday-picked corn.

And then there are the other things… like bathing suits on people that, ugh, just shouldn’t… tasting everything before you order, pushing, shoving, bossing, ignoring… And my favorite, hitting the horn as soon as the light turns green… no matter how many people are in front of you. I mean, come on. WHERE ARE YOU GOING? There is a beach at the end of EVERY ROAD. You can’t be in that much of a hurry unless you are on your way out of town… In which case, let me get out of your way.

But a few weeks back it was still the 4th of July, Annie and Rob were visiting, and none of these other aforementioned had happened yet. So our brains were fresh and new. We were enjoying our weekend when suddenly our Dad, who was in another state, seemed to be trying to reach us via cell phones, that had no service on the beach… Upon returning home, the caller ID on the house phone told us the same… Back and forth we kept missing each other when FINALLY. He had initially thought that one of us may have been arrested due to a missed call to his blackberry from the Southampton County Court… He immediately tried to reach us. But it wasn’t until a message actually dropped into his voicemail that the story began, but never really ended. We, obviously, weren’t in jail… and the message was definitely not intended for our Dad, but for someone else…who apparently had access to unlimited funds…

We’re still waiting on those 20Gs. And regardless of this message being mistakenly placed in our Dad’s inbox as a joke intended for someone else, OR the real damn thing, Southampton ROCKS…. And summer isn’t over just yet. Not to mention the AWE SHUCKS in NEVER KNOWING… So, please talk amongst yourselves… Who do you think it was, and how did it end?

Meanwhile… I’ll be here, husking corn, planning for a few more late summer guests and thinking about the little Indian man, with 4″ platform boots and piercings all over his body… getting off the train in Cos Cob for a little B&B, R&R… because it is August, and that’s how it should be done.

Do you remember that movie from 1993 with Bridget Fonda, Gabriel Byrne and Dermot Mulroney? No? Well let me give you a quick replay… Bridget, aka Maggie, is living a typical life of a ne’er-do-weller about to die via lethal injection when Byrne, aka BOB, swoops in, fakes her death and hands her over to an etiquette/martial arts specialist for a bit of sculpting and near death intimidations. At first this task is daunting as Maggie refuses to CONFORM when suddenly she sees the light via a DATE with BOB — only to have her hopes and dreams of living a normal life shattered by the realization that BOB isn’t that into her… he really just wants her to kill someone.

The plot of the movie kind of winds down when Maggie decides to go “on call” with the whole Killer for Hire career and attempts to live a normal life thanks to the WOO of Dermot Mulroney… which, interestingly enough — is not unlike being wooed by Mormons. Things seem to be on track with the young couple until BOB resurfaces and pulls her back over to the dark side… where things are a little hairy. There are a few explosions, squealing tires and guns fired, but Maggie emerges unscathed… much to the chagrin of BOB, who was really attempting to KILL HER. But as it turns out, BOB really isn’t such a bad guy, so he AGAIN fakes her death… as she walks off into the dark fog to be forgotten forever. 

I wear a lot of hats. Which… is rather interesting because I tend to never WEAR hats… but I wish I could. Yesterday started off okay with the exception of this torturous thing called potty training. Why oh why can’t we just be born with the gift of KNOWING? And why do I have to feel so SORRY about it? I mean… we know about the CATHOLIC GUILT, but this is ridiculous. And beyond forcing someone to do something that he CLEARLY does not want to do… why do I have to be such a DICTATOR? So starting off the day in 90° temps, and after being a complete and total STALIN about PERSONAL MATTERS — we headed out on our errands… things were going just fine… and then I bought a local newspaper.. And there it was, in the editorial section “Ludicrous Comparison”  — my newly found miniature balls being taunted by a letter regarding my attempts to stand up for a development that I think would be a nice change for our community. It doesn’t matter what my attempts were — or what was said– or even the fact that this rebuttal actually helped in proving a few points while attempting to slander. What matters is that my ears started to burn. My knuckles became white and my pulse started racing… What? This was making me upset? Here is someone voicing his silly-little opinion and here I am FREAKING OUT? I mean COME ON. I’VE MET THE DEVIL and THIS IS BOTHERING ME? And then I turned around to find Will dumping my supply of Russian Tea mix ALL OVER THE KITCHEN FLOOR.

Do you know about Russian Tea mix? Well, first of all…. I’m not sure if it’s actually Russian, but it contains TANG and is usually drunk hot around Christmas… My Mom makes it for me every year and I hold onto it just so that I can open it up every once in a while to steal the scent… YUMMY. But, aside from being ridiculously delish and sharing astronaut qualities, the mixture is also rather… STICKY (hello TANG). So while I was diving to stop the spillage from becoming one with my humidity soaked wood floor, Will took off to the dining room… only to walk back into my presence a few minutes later saying “Mommy you want some” holding an OPEN BOTTLE OF VODKA. Yeah.. that’s right. AN OPEN BOTTLE OF VODKA… and as I ripped it from his hands squelching… “DID YOU DRINK IT” while running for the sink, sniffing his breath like a deranged lunatic and dialing 911 with my toes… it became clear that no, he had resisted the urge to taste… But it didn’t end there.

I wore the Brooch yesterday.

I wore it in the car…

I wore it doing laundry…

I wore it all day–doing, well, everyday things. I wore it to the point where I forgot that I was wearing it… Until someone on an appointment complimented the delicacy of the petals. Once it was brought to my attention that I was still wearing this pretty little thing… I started to think about my Nana. My Mom’s Mom. About how she accessorized like no one else I’ve ever met… real and costume jewels… some created by her own expertise–A great deal of which I have at my fingertips and never wear. Then I thought about why. Why don’t I ever pull these little charms of fabulousness out into everyday? What am I waiting for? Is it my everyday black or the introvert extrovert thing? To be honest, there really isn’t a reason other than the two year old’s silent mocking over Mom’s sudden burst of style exchange… As I walked out with the Brooch on he laughed and exclaimed.. “Ohhh Mooommm”… But that can be easily overseen…we hope.

It was, perhaps, Nana that inspired the Brooch purchase to begin with.

This morning while I was getting dressed I weighed my options and thought about yesterday… everyday black? or new shocking Gingham? black or blue… and then I reached into the Nana Collection and found the perfect combo… to be worn all day long — until I forget I have it on…

Guest Bird #5 – Mari

I’m Mari (rhyme that with Atari, not Gary, thank you). I’m so happy to have a place to ramble on and on and on and on, without having to post about the things I post about at my usual blog – Small for Big. Hope you’re ready for that Ry!
 

I’ve been looking forward to writing a post for days, but I keep running out of time – or more importantly, I keep forgetting it because of all the other random little things that take up my time. They keep pushing the writing aside. So now that I’m actually pushing all the other things aside, it seemed appropriate to write about the random business that is my life.
 

I mean, come on, I no longer have a day job! (lost that to a lay off in April) I should have oodles of time! The problem is, I forget to account for the 10 month old nipping at my heels. Ok, she’s a baby not a puppy, but she does nip at everything. My daughter is definitely a time-muncher. In my new life as a Work-At-Home-Mom (though the work is rather sporadic, see above) I’ve been eating up interviews with other Designer/Etsy/Artsy moms who all seem to agree: when your children are awake, your focus is on them. I agree, in theory. But in practice there’s always one more email, one more website, a little more to draw, and on my lazy days, a bit more TV to watch. The bigger issue is my Over Achiever brain (I blame that tendency on my liberal arts Undergraduate Degree) (and of course I said Undergraduate because I’m an OA and I also have a Graduate Degree). As an OA, I forget about the reality of the day’s schedule and assume I can get 10 things done. Instead, I should be choosing 1. Then, at 10:30 PM when I finally decide to give in and watch some bad Conan O’Brien (and I think he’s getting worse) I might actually be able to say I accomplished something.
 

I had an old boss who used to email herself the top 5 things she’d accomplished at the end of every week. She used them as a record for reviews later on. But when I managed to copy her practice for a couple of months, I found it actually helped me remember what I’d been doing. Actually, as I think about it, I’d bet a lot of my “time management” issues stem from my inability to remember anything.
 

Anyway, the end of all of this rambling is this. I’ve decided to try out a “master” schedule.  Because the larger problem – larger than over-scheduling my days – is that it appears I’ve chosen to focus on 5 different career paths. Blogger, Freelance Designer, Artist, (future) Etsy Shop Owner, and Mom. We’ll analyze the feasibility of that at another time. Given that the work week has 5 days in it, I’ve decided to pick a focus for each day. In the order listed above. Obviously I’ll still be all of those things – Mom in particular – on all of those days, but let’s see if choosing one thing at a time can help me make some progress. I’ll let you know how it’s going.

Guest Bird #3

Hi there, my name is Robin and I write a blog called Mass
Hole Mommy.  I am new to this whole
blogging thing and ever since I started, I have wished that I had begun writing
“my tales” much sooner.  I can
honestly say that it was because of Twitter that I started in the first
place.  I met several great people,
Ry being one of them, and saw that the majority of them were bloggers.  After a while, I decided to give birth
to a blog myself and have been loving it ever since.

I saw that Ry was looking for guest writers for her blog; I gave it some thought and decided I would love the opportunity to have a crack at it. So there began my dilemma. What to write about? So many different thoughts started going through my head. But in the end, my main concern was that I wouldn’t have anything captivating to write about.

In trying to come up with a topic, I decided to ask some family and friends for suggestions. My first call was to my mother. I told her I was going to be writing a guest blog and was a little lost for a topic to write about. Her response after all my rambling? “What’s a blog”? I should have seen that one coming, but went on to the next person on my list, which was my sister. I gave her the same information as I gave to my mother, and her response? “Why would they ask YOU, of all people, to be a guest blogger”? I wasn’t feeling the love, so I figured I would try one more person. I called a friend of mine and she said “How about the balloon boy”? Um, how about no.

So, with my head held low, it dawned on me. This blog post is about nothing. Absolutely nothing. Hey, Seinfeld had a multi-million dollar sitcom based on nothing that was on NBC for many season and is still played heavily in syndication to this day. If he can do it, why not me?

In closing, I would really like to thank Ry for the opportunity to be a Guest Bird on her blog. I actually love the idea so much, that I am
going to look for some guest bloggers to write for my blog. Thanks, Ry!